


Eight Days In South Park

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, a lot of things are changed for the sake of plot, clyde smokes the pot-ta to seem cool, i'm sure when i met cat jordan she didn't think i'd be writing a shitty fanfic, if you already read the book this is based on you probably know what's gonna happen, trans boi wendyl (wendy), tricia and karen are besties fight me on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: To the universe, eight days is nothing, but to Craig Tucker, it may just be enough time to change his life.On the summer day Craig’s dad leaves for good, a twitchy blonde boy appears in the empty field surrounding Stark’s Pond- the very field where a spaceship supposedly landed fifty years ago. He is absolutely beautiful, kind-hearted, and intelligent, and he tells Craig he’s waiting for his spaceship to pick him up.Of course he is.Craig had heard all the UFO stories throughout all of his seventeen years: the conspiracy theories, the rumors, the crazy belief in life beyond the stars. As a kid, he searched the skies and studied the constellations with his dad. But all of that is behind him now. His dad’s gone and Craig’s stuck here.But now there’s Tweek. He must be crazy or high, right?He must be…As Craig unravels the mystery that is Tweek, he begins to discover there is far more to him than he first imagined.And if he can learn to believe in what he can’t see: the universe, aliens, love, then maybe the impossible is possible.





	Eight Days In South Park

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the book Eight Days On Planet Earth by Cat Jordan
> 
> The story is in Craig's point of view. First person POV to mirror the book.

6:30 am

I kick off the covers way too early, mind still on a school schedule since school just ended a few days ago. Stumble down the staircase to the kitchen to make coffee and take a walk with my sister Tricia. 

The stone floor is cold under my bare feet, and the whole house is eerily quiet. 

Something’s off, or maybe it’s just me. Coffee will help. 

I’m probably the only guy I know who could who can make coffee in his sleep: water, filter, a couple hundred scoops of Maxwell House. Press the button and we’re good to go. That’s when I walk with Tricia to Kenny’s to pick up Karen. By the time we’re back, the coffee’s done and I make the girls breakfast and…

Tricia's usually awake by now.

“Tricia! Tricia! Wake up!” I knock on her bedroom door, but there’s no response. 

I sigh loudly and walk around the house, calling for her “Tricia! We gotta head to Karen’s!” 

I continue to call out for her as I walk around the outside of the house. Maybe she decided to walk to Karen’s herself.

The open garage door catches my eye. It’s usually closed at this hour. 

I take a few steps closer and find Tricia sitting on the hood of Mom’s Honda, tapping on her phone. 

“Hey, dipshit.” I say “We’re gonna be late” 

Her blue eyes glance over at me briefly before she holds up a middle finger. 

“Relax, I’m texting Karen right now. I let her know that you overslept. Like usual.” 

I sigh and take in the view of the garage. It seems a lot larger than I last… 

“Where’s Dad’s pickup truck?” 

Tricia quickly lifts her head up, eyes wide as she stares at me. 

My heart sinks to my stomach. It feels wrong, this empty garage. Tricia knows it too. 

Mom…

By the time we walk inside, our mother is sitting at the dining room table, drinking some of the coffee I made. She has a smile on her face, which tells me she has no idea about the garage. 

“Good coffee” She lifts her mug- an oversized ceramic that holds twice the usual amount- and nods. 

“Thanks”

She isn’t dressed in her normal work clothes. She’s wearing the pair of pink sweats and tee shirt she likes to sleep in, along with a thin cotton robe and slippers. Her hair isn’t ready for work either; her long blonde hair sticks up all over the place. 

She waves a hand at the coffee pot. “Grab some more of that for me, would you?” 

I pour myself a cup and then refill hers. Two sugars. Black, no sugar for me. 

“Sit, Craig, sit. You too, Patricia.” she urges. There’s an edge to her voice, a warning something's coming. My mother’s hand slides into the front pocket of her robe, and I hear the scritch-scratch of her nails on paper. 

“What’s that?” I aim my gaze at her pocket.

Mom’s eyes flicker from me and Tricia to her lap and back again. She takes out a crumpled piece of notebook paper and lets it sit on her thigh for a moment. Her fingers tremble and her foot bounces nervously. “Your dad…” 

“He’s gone” Tricia says, but it sounds more like a question. “Is that...is that what you wanted to tell us?” 

There’s a hitch in her breath when she sighs. “I don’t think...well, I don’t know for sure, but- no, no, I do know. He’s- yes he’s gone.” 

The scritch-scritch again draws me gaze. “And that’s… a note from him? Did he leave us- you a note?” 

“Craig-” 

Tricia grabs it from Mom’s hand. “Dear Laura… I’m sorry, but Liane and I…” That’s all I hear before Mom snatches it back. Not that I need to know any more. I know exactly who Liane is: Eric Cartman’s mom. Everyone knows about her reputation which makes Dad running off with her… really pathetic. 

“Well, that’s that” I hear a quaver in my voice and swallow to clear it. 

“We don’t know that. We don’t know what will happen.” 

“Yeah sure” Tricia crosses her arms and glares in the direction of the note. 

“He could…” Her words hang in the air. She takes a long gulp of coffee as her eyes dart around the kitchen. Does she really want him back? Seriously? A guy who would rather Tweet and write blog posts than spend time with his own family? 

I feel a jab in my rib.

“We gotta pick up Karen, asshole.” 

Mom waves her mug. “You kids want breakfast first?”

“No worries. I always make the girls breakfast later on.” 

“And your breakfast?”

“What am I, ten? I can make breakfast for myself.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “You sure?” 

“Uh, which one of these is the toaster again?” I walk up to the refrigerator. “This one? Is this it?” 

Tricia taps the microwave “ Oh no, it’s this one, you idiot.”

Mom smiles for a second and then presses her lips together, “I gotta get ready for work. I leave the girls and Mr. Coffee in your capable hands.” She finishes her mug silently, not looking at us. A minute later, I feel her hand rest on my shoulder. She’s about a foot shorter than me, small but mighty. She doesn’t look like it but she’s one kick-ass mother. “Have a good day. It’ll all be okay.”

I shrug off the implication Dad leaving would impact much. “Well, duh, it’s summer break. It’ll be great.” 

She holds my gaze for a long time, and in that time, I try to read what she’s thinking. Are we on the same level about Dad? This isn’t a big deal, right? Our eyes meet and she suddenly glances away as if she’s said too much. “Yes, then, good.” 

She looks like she might need a hug, but we’re not real touchy-feely in the Tucker family. It would be weird for me to offer one. Instead, I salute her as she walks out the door. 

I look for my coat, wondering about the letter. What else did Dad write? Is there anything in there about Tricia and I? Not that I care. He’s always had his own shit going on. Maybe now he’ll finally be happy. 

I hear Mom’s car leave the driveway, the sound of tires against pavement barely audible. It hasn’t been easy being Thomas Tucker’s wife; she had to hold the family together for a while now. Maybe she’ll finally be happy too. 

===========================================================================================================================================

12:04 pm

I didn’t get a text back from Kenny until noon. 

 

How’s Karen? He texted.

He always does this. Texts a few times a day to ask about her. Almost as if he doesn’t trust her with me. 

The girls are playing swords I reply

What?? 

*with swords. Oops they’re bleeding. Now they’re dead. 

I hate you >:( I laugh at his response. I’m meeting Clyde at the spot

You better not leave the girls home alone. 

I’ll bring ‘em. 

 

We meet where we usually do, at the back of the old drive-in behind the huge plaster screen. Clyde and I have been hanging out there since middle school. As we grew older and made other friends, more and more people began meeting up here with us. We rode regular old bikes and BMXs until we turned fourteen and got sick of it. 

One time, we set up a ramp using some raw lumber and concrete blocks we found on the side of the road and dragged to the drive-in. Without any training or practice whatsoever, Clyde attempted to jump off the ramp. I never saw so much blood pour out of a single nose. His face connected with the concrete like a jelly-filled doughnut. 

“Yo” Clyde calls out to me when he drives up to the movie screen. He’s wearing a red and white varsity jacket, despite not being on a single sports team. Under the unbuttoned jacket, he wore tee shirt with a outdated meme on it that billows slightly over his stomach. Clyde had always been conscious of his weight, despite it only being nearly as bad as it used to be. His dad had been hammering at him to lose weight and eat right. 

Please. Those jacket pockets are stuffed with Pop Tarts, not grapefruit.

Well, Pop Tarts and weed. He takes a couple quick puffs off a joint and offers it to me. I shake my head and he shrugs. “Your loss.” 

“Did you drive with that thing lit?” 

“Yeah, maybe”

I laugh. “Dude”

“I’m super skilled.” 

“Sure. That’s how you got a D in every class-” 

He punctuates the air with the joint. “ Not true. I got a C in history.”

History at our school is a joke. No one has ever failed. Even the worst student- aka Clyde- never got anything less than a C-minus. We’re entering our senior year with dueling crappy averages, me because I can’t stand the teachers and Clyde, well, he's not that stupid but he’d rather smoke dope than study. 

“What’re we doing today?” he asks, leaning to rest his arm on Karen’s head who waves his arm away. If I tried to do that to Tricia, she’d bite my arm off. Speaking of Tricia, she walks around the drive-in. The place is filled with leftovers from a bygone era: metal rods planted in the dry earth, bent and crushed by wind and rain (and probably me and Clyde when we were younger); dead speakers, the type that clipped to car windows, used to hang by their wires but disappeared a few years ago. The snack bar is the last original structure still intact. 

"I dunno. What do you wanna do?" 

"Stark's Pond?" 

"What, to swim?" At best, my chubby friend might float, but there's no way he's going to exercise on his own. 

"Swim? Dude, please." He drops the joint on the dry ground and crushes it under his Converse. "Just hang."

"Hang?" I know what he wants to do at Stark's Pond: stare at the girl lifeguard he has a crush on. "Like, get a tan? Is that what you wanna do? Or maybe rent a boat? No!" I snap my fingers. "Paddleboard." I mime rowing with an invisible oar. 

"Fuck you, Tucker."

"Go on, say it." 

"What."

"Say her name. Go on." I poke his chest with two fingers. "Be. Be. Ste. Vens." I poke him again, and he rolls his eyes. I lean in and whisper in his ear, "You know you want her." 

His cheeks red with embarrassment. "You're a douche." He holds up a Pop Tart and tucks it back into his pocket. "Don't ask. You're not getting any."

I shrug. "Don't care." Jeez, so he likes a girl. 

And I guess because of circumstance or whatever, I'm suddenly thinking of Wendyl. 

He has a cute heart-shaped face with cheeks that dimple when he smiles; black hair kept in a classy pixie cut; curves hidden under baggy tee shirts and a South Park Cows sweatshirt. Very few of us guys know he's got a killer bod, but he's constantly in motion. Gymnastics during school and swim team in the summer. Wendyl's a team player, even when the team is just me and Clyde.

Wendyl and I fooled around a little bit. But that's over now. 

Bebe, now, she's something else. She's so far out of Clyde's league, she might as well be on another planet. I mean, she's a lifeguard! Totally in shape, one of the most popular girls in school since fucking kindergarten, amazing grades. 

Any normal guy -like me- would know his place with a girl like Bebe. But Clyde... I love the guy, but he's not normal. He actually believes he might have a chance at a hook-up. 

"Anyway, gotta go. Things to do," I say, and wave over to Karen and Tricia.

Clyde rolls his eyes at me. "Things to do? What, you got a job now?"

We both know the "job" I have currently. Kenny had moved into one of the newly built apartments near the Whole Foods with Karen. He usually works during the day and often leaves me in charge of Karen. If it means Tricia’s out of my hair for a few hours, then I’m okay with helping him. I mean, I'm not getting paid but I'm okay with that. I often heard Mom and Dad arguing late at night, about how Dad needed to contribute more and take responsibility and face facts. That's one of Mom's favorite catchphrases, as in "Face facts, Thomas, this family can't support itself." Or . "Face facts, Craig, flipping everyone off isn't going to help the situation."

I wonder if she's telling herself, "Face facts, Laura, that jerk is gone and he's not coming back." 

But that's a good thing. Isn't it? 

I hear the flicker of a lighter and look up to see Clyde with a brand-new joint, a little on the skinny side but it'll do. He doesn't light it but hands both the lighter and the joint to me.

"You look like you need it," he says.

I don't hesitate. I light it up, take two quick tokes, and hold the smoke in my lungs as long as I can. Finally, I give it back and exhale.

"So... the lake?" I ask Clyde.

My friend shakes his head. "Nah, this is good." 

I tilt my face up to the sky and feel the sun warm my face. Yeah, this is good. 

It doesn't take long for every muscle to turn to jelly and for my head to feel like it's filled with helium, expanding farther and farther into the universe. Small bits of memories, of Dad and I, of other summers, appear in my brain.

===========================================================================================================================================  
"Have you ever thought about what's out there, kiddo? All the billions of stars in our galaxy?" my dad asked me often when I was a kid. We'd be sitting outside on a hot summer night, and he'd point up to the sky, index finger tracing the outline of the Big Dipper from the North Star. He'd explain the different constellations and how Pluto was booted from planet to star and then upgraded to dwarf planet. 

When the trees went bare in the fall, we could see the field from the porch. Mom wouldn't let us spend too much time over there. "If your father could live in that field, he'd do it in a heartbeat" she'd say with a nervous smile. "Now don't you get caught up in it too."

Dad would laugh and wave her away. "They won't, Laura, they won't." But as soon as she was gone, he'd whisper to Tricia and I "It's part of our history, The Tucker family history. It's special. I'm special. We're special." 

Special. My dad was born to do and be something great. He knew that because the night he was born, a spaceship landed in the field by Stark's Pond. It landed at the exact moment of his birth. Coincidence? 

No such thing coincidences. Not where the universe is concerned. 

In 1965, in our quiet mountain town, a spaceship landed, or so locals said. It crashed at two in the morning in the field surrounding Stark's Pond. Granddad didn't see it land but he felt it- the whole town felt it. Some people reported seeing a fireball in the sky just before the ground shook, while others said they felt the electricity in the air. Clocks stopped. Watches went dead. Refrigerator and oven doors opened and closed; lights turned on and off.

My grandfather, who wasn't known for his curiosity, nevertheless tossed a blanket over his wife, who's just given birth, and ran outside without another word. When he returned an hour later, his face was grey and his clothes were covered in soot. He calmly picked up his wailing newborn, whispered in his ear, and the baby immediately stopped crying. My grandmother never knew what he'd said.

The field burned the rest of the night. The next morning, as the sun rose over the mountains, there was a clamor at the pond. The whole town surrounded what appeared to be a huge metal cone, dented into the earth. The local press took photos and interviewed witnesses. 

The excitement, said those who were there, was insane. Finally, something to put the small town on the map! Whether you believed it was an alien ship or Russian spacecraft, it was remarkable that anything had happened in our town.

That was December 9, 1965.

On December 10, the military arrived and took it all away.

===========================================================================================================================================

9:28 pm

Dinner was quiet. Karen had gone home a few hours prior. The absence of Dad's voice, as grating as it was, make the house feel bigger and emptier. Mom picked up KFC on the way home from work, which helps a little. Grease always helps ease the pain. 

Not that we're in pain. Not me. Not Tricia. Not Mom. 

"What'd you do today?" she asks. She's dressed in her pink pj's, which makes me wonder if she went to work like that and I just didn't notice. But no, my mother's tough, not crazy.

I shrug, "Rescued a cat from a tree. Helped an old lady cross the street. Shit like that." Tricia laughed, causing her to choke on her drink. 

"Nice"

"How about you?"

"Stopped a robbery."

"Damn. You got me beat." 

Mom waves a drumstick in the air. "Well it was just one person and he was using his wife's credit card but he could have been part of the Mafia." 

"Until you stopped it."

"Until I stopped it." She starts to eat the chicken but takes a sip of wine instead. "What's the plan for tomorrow? More of the same?' 

I cock my head, chewing. "That would be my guess." Which is true. Maybe we'll go to the pond, or if it's boiling, we'll go to the mall and soak up the AC. "And you?" 

She shrugs. "Work." My mom slumps forward with her chin on her hands. "Would you two mind cleaning up tonight?" 

"Oh yeah, sure, sure." I scan the table. Tricia already ate all of hers and I can easily scarf down the rest of the chicken and sides.

"Thanks. And I can do the coffee in the morning. Sleep all you want," she says, her words a bit slurred. Too much wine, not enough wings? Nah, she's probably just tired.

She leaves, taking her glass with her.

"Hey? You called him, right? You called his cell?" Tricia asks. 

Mom's head bobs and then stops. "Oh. No. I didn't." 

"Did you.. do you want me to?" 

She reaches for her phone and scrolls through her contacts. 

"They have GPS, right?" Mom creeps back to the table. "Like, we could find him through his phone?" 

"He's not... Mom, he's not lost." I respond.

Tricia taps the phone icon next to Dad's number and waits for it to connect. I feel hyperaware of Mom's anxious breath next to me. It rings once, then twice, then...

The sound of the Enterprise's transporter, a ghostly shimmer of chimes, echoes in the empty house. 

Dad's ringtone. He left his phone here. 

Mom's face falls but she recovers quickly. "All right, so... I'll try calling Liane." She pushes herself away from the table.

"Yeah, sure." What does she care? He's gone and it doesn't matter. We don't need him. 

As soon as Mom leaves the room, I wrap the leftovers quickly and toss them into the fridge for breakfast.

A loud sigh startles me; Tricia's standing next to the screen door. "I'm bored. Can we head out?" 

I sigh in response. "Fine. Wanna check out Stark's?" 

She shrugs and walks out the screen door. I follow after her, the sound of crunching grass surrounding us. As we walk, I text-harass Clyde about Bebe. I look up from my phone and Tricia's nowhere in sight. 

"Tricia! Tricia! Come on!" I shout into the street. 

Only silence in response.

What the hell... Where is she? Seriously, with this girl. I keep walking towards the pond, hands cupped around my mouth, and shouting her name until I'm hoarse. 

Fine, whatever. Let her stay out all night. She'll be back. She'll have to eat. 

Out in the empty field, the "space field", something moves, catching my eye. A flash of auburn-it has to be her. "Tricia? Tricia!" I can just about see the sky blue of her sweatshirt. Damn child. 

The field isn't far-just about fifty yards away- but I have to cross a stream to get there. Water burbles over mossy rocks; a tangle of weeping willow branches drip across the surface. I carefully hop from rock to rock, pushing away the soft branches until a reach the other side.

The field isn't empty.

There's my sister. And... a nervous looking blonde boy.


End file.
